


Fade to Love

by palateens



Series: OMGCP Valentines 2017 [5]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Trans Kent, Trans Male Character, what else am I capable of writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 12:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9725633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: They both push, but only so much. Like they’re scared of themselves or each other, or maybe both. Sometimes it feels like they’re standing on a crashing wave or a floor that’s bottoming out underneath them.OrThe one where Shitty and Kent slowly, but surely, fall in love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Free for All

The first-time Shitty met Kent it was right as Jack’s storming out of the Haus at the beginning of their Frog year.

“Holy fuck are you—”

“Yea Kent Parson, the one and only,” Kent interrupts with a sardonic tone.

“I was gonna say alright but,” Shitty shrugs, “whatever floats your boat, brah.” 

And Kent just stares at him quizzically for a moment before bursting out into laughter. That was the moment Shitty realized Kent was something else.

“Fuck sorry,” Kent wipes the moisture out of his eyes. “I probably sound like a total dick.”

“Dicks aren’t so bad,” Shitty waggles his eyebrows.

“Yeah?” Kent looks at him in hesitant awe. “You swing that way?”

“I swing all ways, brah,” he doesn’t need to say that, especially to Kent fucking Parson of all people.

“Good to know,” Kent nods awkwardly.

“Can I buy you a beer?”

“I think it’d be me buying you a beer,” he gestures to the ridiculously bulbous watch on his wrist, “but sure.”

Kent buys them a twenty-four pack of Natty which they smuggle into Shitty’s dorm room. The walls are white painted brick with linoleum floors that remind Kent of his worn-down elementary school. They get semi trashed, and end up talking mostly about Jack.

“I don’t know what I thought coming here would do,” Kent laments. “Fuck that’s a lie. I really wanted him to come…to Vegas.”

“That’s not what you were gonna say,” Shitty snorts.

“Is so,” Kent says petulantly.

“Bullshit,” he contends, “so now what?”

Kent bites his lip so hard it leaves an imprint. Shitty swears he can see a puncture mark. “If I was smart, call it a day.”

“And you’re…not?”

Kent licks his lips seductively, “I’ve got a record for doing some dumb shit.”

That’s how Shitty ends up making out with Kent Parson in his dorm room. He’s snaking a hand up Parse’s thigh. He stops to ask if it’s ok, and Parse mumbles in agreement. He shoves a hand down Parse’s pants to grab his dick and—

“Oh,” he says without thinking.

Kent flinches, and Shitty thinks he’s the world’s biggest asshole.

“That’s not what I meant,” he swears hastily. “It’s just, is this ok? Really?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you could keep a secret,” Kent whispers darkly. “Besides, Mr. Gender Studies, I figured you of all people could deal with a guy without a dick.”

“Dude I can definitely deal,” Shitty nods enthusiastically, “but for the record you’re the hottest guy ever and I will probably embarrass myself at every opportunity.”

Kent shuts him up with another kiss. It’s late when they’re done and (mostly) sober. Kent stays the night. He leaves early the next morning, giving Shitty his phone number.

“Just in case I pull some stunt like this again,” he reasons.

“Which part?”

“Everything,” he shrugs as if it were obvious.

Kent visits a total of four times that year. The second time ends mostly like the first time; except Kent talks more about how he fucked up and why Jack probably doesn’t want to talk to him.

“Then give up,” Shitty tells him.

“I’m not as smart as you Mr. Ivy-League,” Kent taps his temple. “I’ve had one to many checks for that.”

They text and they send dumb pictures to each other. Sometimes Shitty informs Kent of things Jack does. It’s not much, nothing more than he’d share with a casual stranger or his fucking grandparents. It’s tidbits, shallow and light. Kent doesn’t ask for them. But Shitty thinks as much as Jack was dependent on his meds, Kent was dependent on Jack. It was like giving him a fix, and if that fix meant Kent would go out and win a game—Shitty didn’t see the harm in that.

The third time, Shitty’s at his mom’s place for the weekend. He gets a text from Jack asking if he can call.

“Are you ok?” He asks in a soft voice. Because Jack doesn’t ask for things, or he’s trying.

“C-could you just talk for a while? I need a distraction,” Jack stutters.

“Sure,” and Shitty pulls out his copy of _Wild_ by Cheryl Strayed and reads it to Jack. Two chapters later, Jack’s interrupting him.

“I have a group project to work on, but thanks. I really needed that,” Jack hangs up with a shaky inhale.

Something about Jack’s hesitancy screams Kent. So, Shitty calls him.

“What did you do,” it’s not meant to sound accusatory.

“Nothing,” Kent replies without context. “He called me.”

“And then what,” Shitty prompts.

“Then I said we were playing the Islanders, we can meet half way if he wants to talk,” Kent explains. “He bails, doesn’t so much as say anything or answer my ten fucking calls until this morning.”

“And…”

“He said ‘I couldn’t make it’,” he does a terrible impression of Jack’s accent. “The fuck? That’s all I get? I hung up. I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what?”

“Trust myself not to make him hurt as much as he makes me,” he admits.

Shitty takes a deep breath. He tries to remain neutral, or he’s tried. It occurs to him in this moment that he was never allowed to be neutral. Their stories are far too intertwined. “Should I believe you?”

“Do what you want,” Kent says bluntly, hanging up.

Shitty assumes that’s the end of their correspondence. But Kent texts him the next day as if nothing’s happened, and Shitty thinks that’s just the way they work. ‘They’ don’t exist outside of phone conversations and the occasional mistake. Their relationship, for lack of a better word, is raw and carnal yet it’s softer than what Kent had with Jack. He knows that.

Because they both push, but only so much. Like they’re scared of themselves or each other, or maybe both. Sometimes it feels like they’re standing on a crashing wave or a floor that’s bottoming out underneath them; the odds are stacked against them while life and chemistry push them closer. Shitty wonders what he’s supposed to be to the guy who supposedly fucked up his (their) best friend. But he mentally slaps himself, because if his parents’ divorce taught him anything it’s that there are no innocents in love. And that’s what Jack and Kent had been to each other. It was as plain as the tension in Jack’s spine and the pain in Kent’s voice when the other is mentioned.

The fourth time it happens, Kent’s sitting on the green couch in the Haus when Shitty walks in. It throws him through a momentary loop. But at the same time, wasn’t he used to Kent just showing up in his life by now?

“Jack has class until six,” Shitty informs him casually.

“I’m not here for him,” Kent says flatly.

“Oh,” Shitty gapes slightly.

Kent snorts, “is that the only thing you know how to say?”

“Do you wanna get a drink?” 

“Fuck yea,” he rasps with a small grin on his face.

Shitty doesn’t ask why Kent came to visit, and Kent doesn’t really say. The thought is dangling over them as they kiss and Kent pulls on Shitty’s growing locks. _I came for you, asshole._

Sometimes Parse calls him late at night without context. Shitty learns that those calls are a cry for help. He pulls up something to stream simultaneously and they watch until they pass out. Kent lets Shitty go on these diatribes about school and adds his two-sense when appropriate. They have their own ongoing discourse, and it’s kind of beautiful the way they can switch from third world feminism to Instagram posts in 2.5 seconds. They get stoned over Skype and have even weirder conversations about cats and beetles and the healing power of laughter. Shitty gets this itch under his skin every so often.  The more he reaches out to Parse, the more he wonders if it was always loneliness masked as restlessness.

“What kind of name is Shitty anyway?” Kent inquires during one call.

“My initials are BS and my teammates at Andover thought they were really fucking clever,” Shitty rolls his eyes.

Kent shrugs, “birth names are dumb anyway.”

“How’d you get Kent?” Shitty dares to ask. He knows talking about deadnames can be insensitive. But Kent’s the sort of guy who could ramble on for hours about little details and anecdotes. Shitty thinks it’s his way of connecting with other people while keeping them at arm’s length.

 “My dad called me Kenny all the fucking time,” he shrugs simply. “I didn’t think I’d get far in the league if the only thing the higher ups could call me was Kenny. It sounds…juvenile.”

“And Kent doesn’t sound like a whiny prep boy?” Shitty chirps.

“Fuck off,” Kent laughs.

The Aces win the Stanley Cup that year, and Shitty is both pleased that the league’s best player is a bisexual trans man and disheartened that no one will ever know. Kent visits on Jack’s birthday. They have a grand old shouting match about being there for each other. Kent retreats into Shitty’s room after Jack storms out. Shitty ignores the resent boiling up in him, feeling like Kent’s second choice. Kent promises it’s the last time he’ll show up to see Jack. Shitty thinks it’s because he’s totally gone for Kent that he’s inclined to believe him.

Sophomore year, Shitty meets Lardo. He realizes it’s possible to be in like with multiple people. Because fuck, Lardo is witty and ferocious. She’s this perfect balance of chill and lively. She makes cute look badass. She makes healthy communication look like child’s play. She makes following your heart and being happy look simple as fuck. She’s this shot of adrenaline Shitty didn’t know he needed.

But then there’s Kent. Kent who can turn anything into a double entendre. Kent who has eight different laughs but only one real smile that only seems to be directed at Shitty. Kent who gets up in his face, and challenges him to think harder and feel more. Kent who never lets Shitty take himself for granted. He thinks he could fall in love with both of them. Then again, he doesn’t know if that option is on the table.

Kent hits him up whenever he plays the Devils, Rangers, Islanders, Bruins or Falconers. They meet half way or Shitty drives to him if he’s close enough. Shitty thinks Kent is just thirsty as fuck. He says as much in January.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kent huffs indignantly. “I got plenty of dick before I met you.”

“Fair,” Shitty reframes from asking what they’re doing. “Another round Parse?”

“Kent,” he insists quietly, bringing his lips close enough for Shitty to kiss. “Call me Kent.”

“Ok, Kent,” Shitty groans huskily. “Another round?”

Kent chuckles impishly. “Do you even have to ask?”

Shitty finds Kent shirtless in boxer-briefs, reading a book, in his room mid-March.

“Didn’t know my room was a double,” Shitty jokes.

“Didn’t know you owned _Little Women_ ,” he volleys back.

“My mom’s an English teacher, sue me,” Shitty shucks his backpack and clothing off.

“I thought it was your job to sue people,” Kent laughs at his own bad chirp.

“Ok so what’s your excuse for bumming it on my bed?”

Kent looks away, staring intently at the book. “I was thinking that I’ve sucked your dick way too many times to barely know you.”

“You know me,” Shitty insists.

“Maybe I wanna know more of you?” he admits quietly. “Like the parts that don’t sneak around behind their best friend or get random booty calls from NHL stars?”

“Are you asking me out?” Shitty wants to slap himself, even he can hear how utterly dumbfounded he sounds.

Kent eyes him wearily, “Do you have to say it like that?”

“Yes,” he asserts, because they’ve been doing whatever this for too long.

“Fine,” Kent sighs, “Shits wanna get dinner with me?”

“Yes, a hundred times yes. But is it clothing optional or is this a sex first dinner later scenario?”

He flips Shitty off, “it’s hot in here.”

Meanwhile he sorta secretly dates Kent Parson, Shitty falls harder for Lardo. He thinks it’ll go away when she goes to Kenya for a semester, but he couldn’t be more wrong. He decides to tell Kent in November when he’s there’s to play the Bruins and it won’t be a bitch to get home if he gets kicked out of Kent’s hotel room. He probably should’ve asked before they had sex. But the way he sees it, there’s no way Kent wouldn’t want to angry fuck if Shitty was willing.

“Are we done then?” Kent phrases carefully, neutrally. And fuck if he hadn’t spent so many hours arguing with this fucker about communicating properly, he wouldn’t feel this sad pride blooming in his chest.  

“I don’t want us to be,” he puts his hands on Kent’s shoulders, squeezing them in reassuring pulses. “But I think I’m polyamorous and I don’t know if anything will happen with Lardo but what if someone else comes along later? Would you be ok with that?”

“Yea actually,” Kent looks as surprised as Shitty feels. “I want you to be happy, Shits. Monogamy is stupid anyway.”

“You’re actually the coolest dude on the planet,” Shitty kisses him enthusiastically.

“Whatever you say, Boone,” Kent snorts with a playful grin.

“That’s not my name,” Shitty objects.

“If I guess right will you tell me?”

“Never,” he brushes his mustache against Kent’s neck, forcing the man into a fit of laughter.

“You gonna tell your girl?” Kent asks when he’s got his bearings.

“Right now? No she’s halfway around the world,” he explains.

“Well until then, you’ve got one boyfriend and twelve hours until I leave for Montreal.”

And that’s how Shitty realizes he’s been in a long-distance relationship for the better part of a year. “Swawesome,” his body melts back into Kent’s.

He and Kent aren’t perfect, not by a long shot. They get high when Kent has a few days after a long roadie, and they get wasted more than they should. Kent’s got all this Jack-angst pent up that only gets released in small, loud outbursts. Shitty’s family was lacking in healthy relationships department so he isn’t even sure what the fuck he’s doing half the time. He tells Lardo just as much when he tries to talk to her about his (major) crush.

“You’re polyamorous,” she repeats slowly. Lardo’s been painting on Shitty’s back for a half an hour when he gets the guts to broach the subject.

“Yea, and I dig you. I want to be with you,” he recites slowly. “But you should know I have a boyfriend and he’s sort of amazing.”

“That’s a relief,” Lardo confesses, dipping her brush into a lilac he hasn’t seen her use yet.

Shitty chuckles awkwardly, “which part?”

“I like you too,” she explains. “I want to be with you. But I’m bi and this is college. I think we could have something ‘swawesome and long term, but I don’t want to rush into that.”

“No worries, bro,” he assures. “I just wanna keep talking to you and doing what not-totally-platonic bros do if that’s alright.”

“That is more than alright,” Lardo leans over to peck his cheek. “It’s fucking perfect.”

He spends the summer in Boston stressing out about Law School apps. He sees Lardo constantly, and Kent after the Aces get knocked out of the playoffs. Kent, probably for comedic effect, rents one of the Knight’s many properties. He thinks it’s both beautiful and surreal that he can make scrambled eggs for his boyfriend and girlfriend after spending the entire night galivanting around the city together. Kent and Lardo get along pretty well, unsurprisingly. Kent’s favorite past time is chirping the people Lardo finds on Tinder.  

Lardo fills Kent in on the Zimmermann-Bittle saga. When Lardo gets to the part about Jack apologizing to Bitty for the concussion he got, Kent’s face gets all soft and somber.

“He’s in love,” Kent declares.

“You sure?” Lardo eyes him hesitantly.

“Jack doesn’t get invested in people like that,” Kent shakes his head, “not usually anyway.”

It seems like an acceptance of the inevitable. Parse and Zimms were a closed chapter in a richer narrative, or so Johnson told Shitty one time when he felt guilty about dating Jack’s ex behind his back. Kent and Shitty had been doing this…dance of theirs for literally years. He knew Kent and his penchant for going too hard and too fast; for taking things too personally and acting out of spite. But he also knew Jack’s ability to compartmentalize ‘til no one else mattered but him. Shitty knew both sides of the story. And sometimes, he tried to mend them back together.  

“Was he ever a transphobic dick to you?” He asks one day when the summer’s coming to a close and Kent’s due back in Las Vegas.

“Nah,” Kent answers more easily than any other Jack-related topic thus far. “He’s many kinds of dick but if he gave me shit on ice it was because I was being sloppy. Not because he thought I was ‘less of a man’ or some shit like that.”  

Shitty works on his applications and his senior thesis. He works on multiple drafts with his thesis advisor. Ultimately scrapping the one that includes a discussion on transphobia because if the paper ever got published, there’d likely be an inquisition-level uproar about the possibility of trans men and man-aligned people in the NHL. Lardo starts dating Camila who is absolutely ‘swawesome and is the best fucking metamour Shitty could hope for. Kent, true to his word, gets stupid ideas sometimes. And once they’re etched into his skull, he can’t let go of them.

Case in point, he spent a solid month convinced that he could get Jack to join the Aces. Shitty wouldn’t call himself jealous, at least not by nature. And he’d hate to think that he’s spent the entirety of his relationship with Kent and friendship with Jack being wary of Jack’s place in Kent’s life. But he can’t ignore the way all logic dissipates whenever Jack Laurent Zimmermann enters Kent Parson’s mind. 

“Maybe if I visited,” he suggests in November of Shitty’s senior year. s

“What do you think that’ll do?” Shitty asks as calmly as he can muster.

“He won’t hang up on me,” Kent points out.

“No he’ll just slam the door in your face,” Shitty deadpans.

Kent sighs exasperatedly, running a hand through his tangled hair. “What do you want me to say Shitty?”

“I don’t know, fuck,” Shitty growls. If it were anything else, Shitty would have them take an objective, thoughtful approach together. But he’s so over this topic, he almost doesn’t recognize the bite in his voice when he demands “why does he have to be on your team?”

“Because we play well together,” Kent persists. “Hockey makes sense with him around.”

“So the Calder and two Cup wins mean nothing,” Shitty chirps acerbically.

“Of course, they do!” Kent snaps, “what the fuck is your problem?”

“He’s not going to come crawling back to you,” Shitty warns him bluntly.

“Fuck you,” Kent sneers.

“No fuck you,” Shitty contends sharply. “Do you think it’s easy sitting here, listening to you pine after a guy you haven’t dated for six years when I’ve been here for half of that time?”

“Shits,” he protests with a look that’s more confused than hurt.

“No Kent,” Shitty interrupts, “I may be an asshole for dating my best friend’s ex without him knowing, but you’re the one in denial about this whole fucked up situation.”

Kent looks down at his desk, he takes a deep breath before asking. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing you can’t give,” he hangs up.

He ignores Kent’s calls and texts for the three days after.

“He called me today,” Lardo tells him the Friday of finals week. They’re lounging in the reading room on the eve of the Epikegster. It’s cold enough that they shouldn’t be out there. But Shitty thinks the cold helps clear his mind.

Shitty doesn’t need her to clarify who called. “Yea? Good for him.”

“Dude, I think he’s really sorry,” she raises her voice slightly, “you should talk to him.”

Shitty sighs, “I know but fuck. I’m sick of dating someone behind everyone’s back. I can’t enjoy being with him because I gotta share him with the goddamn rest of the continent.”

“Imagine how he feels,” Lardo looks at him pointedly. “Shits, maybe he’s not in love with Jack. Maybe he doesn’t know how to say he misses having a normal life and his best friend.”

Shitty looks away.

“He told me over the summer ‘if anyone to could bring the band back together, it’s Shits. He’s got a heart big enough for the two biggest losers in hockey and he makes it look like no big deal.’”

“Fuck,” her words hit him harder than any check, “of course he’s lonely out in Vegas. I’ve been—”

“A jealous ass?” She offers with a concerned grin.

“Totally,” Shitty laughs at his own stupidity.

“What are you gonna do?”

“Call him, maybe,” he suggests weakly.

She hums in acknowledgement, resting her head against his shoulder. “You don’t sound so sure.”

“I wouldn’t blame him if he told me to fuck off.”

“He might,” she concedes. “But that doesn’t mean he wants to break up.”

Shitty found out some months ago that the three of them are children of divorce. Which means they all have some impression that relationships being weak and temporary. They all cope in different ways. Lardo kept things light when she thought things were getting too serious. Shitty frantically, and loudly, opposed the institution of marriage and heteronormative life goals. Kent pushed people away or clung too hard. Which is why it’s such a big fucking deal that he keeps trying to meet Shitty halfway.

Shitty could only hope that he was willing to do that this time.

That was better left for after the Epikegster. When there were no questionable substances around to make him do or say dumb shit (no pun intended).

He’s nursing a cup of tub juice on the banister of the front porch when he hears a familiar voice say—

“Hey you think you can help me out? I’m looking for someone who lives here,” Kent’s standing in front of him with that godawful Aces snapback, his two-ton watch and the flannel Shitty says matches his eyes best. Kent’s shifting nervously from side to side. He has a small smirk that reminds Shitty how much he’s missed that stupid face.

“Jack’s inside,” Shitty tells him without heat. Because if this is what Kent’s gotta do to get closure or self-validation, then Shitty will be outside waiting for him. Always.

“I was actually gonna say I’m challenging Lardo to flip cup but whatever floats your boat,” Kent chirps, assuming Shitty remembers how they first met.

He does.

Shitty cackles, “fuck I probably sound like a total dick.”

“Yea,” a blush blooms around Kent’s dimples, “but I kind of love you.”  

Shitty feels his jaw go slack. “Yea?” he asks skeptically.

Kent shuffles forward, standing in between Shitty’s legs with his arms around the other’s neck. “Yea,” he rasps, packing one syllable with a symphony of everything that made them...them.

“Well that’s good,” Shitty’s voice dips low as he pulls Kent in closer. “Because I sorta love you too.”

“Sorta or really?” Kent leans in closer with that desperation in his eyes that knows is from him truly, genuinely wanting something with every fiber of his being. And that thing Kent wants right now is him.

“I really love you,” he swears catching Kent’s lips with his own.  

Shitty may or may not spend the night making out with his boyfriend. He may or may not have loud morning sex with said boyfriend, and his girlfriend (and his girlfriend’s girlfriend) that causes most of the Haus to bang on his door. He may have been too loud on the bullhorn because his swawesome morning romp was totally interrupted, and it was totally uncool of Jack to threaten to use his first name.

He might clean up the kitchen before Bitty gets to it and then proceed to make breakfast himself. Ransom and Holster are speculating not so quietly about what it means. Shitty ignores them. He starts hearing classic Britney songs coming from somewhere. But it’s early and it doesn’t click in his mind until he hears Jack complaining.

“Shits—Kent?!”

“Shut the fucking door!”

“What are you doing here?!”

“I am trying to shower! Turn the fuck around or shut the fucking door!”

“Why are you in my house?!”

“Not showering apparently.”

“I should do something,” Shitty thinks out loud.

Before he can act, he hears Lardo’s muffled growls followed by a series of door slams. Predictably, Jack’s storming down the stairs ten seconds later.

“Why is Kent in our shower?” He demands.

There’s a part of Shitty that wants to act dumb or diffuse the tension with a joke. “You got time?”

Jack asses him carefully. “Do I need time?”

Shitty sighs, “probably.”

Shitty tells him everything. Well, almost everything ( _I don’t want to hear about you having sex with him, Shits_ ). By the time Shitty’s done talking, Lardo’s eating breakfast while Camilla makes coffee. He hears a few doors open and close upstairs. He thinks he hears Kent talking to Bitty, which could go either way he thinks. But he hears some laughter and soft footfalls down the stairs, so he figures they’ll be best friends in no time.

“Oh totally,” he hears Kent tell Bitty, “don’t let his ‘simple Canadian’ shtick fool you. He’s just a music snob.”

Shitty can see Jack going a little white. He hears them stop at the bottom of the stairs. He doesn’t know what takes them so long but when they turn the corner, Bitty plops himself down next to Jack at the table—grabbing Jack’s hand like it’s no big deal. Jack seems grateful nonetheless. Meanwhile Kent (wearing Shitty’s favorite pair of sweats and last night’s undershirt) pecks Lardo on the temple, and warmly accepts a mug from Camilla. Shitty’s still flipping pancakes and making eggs. He can’t get rid of the stupid grin on his face.

Kent wraps an arm around Shitty’s waist, kissing the side of his mustache. Shitty crinkles his nose, turning slightly to kiss Kent good morning.

“We good?” Kent asks, nodding in the direction of the table.

Shitty looks over his shoulder, seeing Lardo and Camilla chatting while Bitty easily keeps Jack calm and attentive. He realizes that he and Kent only got to this place because they did it together. Because despite everything, they kept meeting each other halfway.

“I think we are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title - Fade to Love by Fours 
> 
> I over extended myself with three fic challenges in two weeks. Believe it or not though, I still ended up writing 22k in total.  
> There's one or two prompts that I didn't get to that I was excited to write, so those are officially on my to do list.
> 
> I'm rarepair, poly trash and accept prompts. [Come say hi on Tumblr.](http://abominableobriens.tumblr.com)


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